


christmas for cowboys

by rostovslover



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, and its christmas, you have a son, your son also likes cowboys a whole lot, your son is named charles but chaz is a nickname
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28357875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rostovslover/pseuds/rostovslover
Summary: your cowboy obsessed son and his trusty stuffed cow celebrate christmas.
Relationships: Roger Taylor (Queen)/Reader
Kudos: 8





	christmas for cowboys

There was a buzzing presence in the bedroom far too early. Oak door squeaking and quiet plodding across the room. You awoke to a gentle tapping at your cheek, big blue eyes peering into yours.

“Mummy-” Charlie whispered, “Mummy it’s snowing.”

You sniffed, blinking against the bright light in the room, “Is it?”

“Mhm,” Your boy nodded, matter-of-factly, “It’s also Christmas, Christmas morning. Papa said Father Christmas would be here, and I checked the tree, he was,”

“Did you see Santa?” The sudden interruption of Roger’s voice made you jump to which both he and your son giggled.

“No,” Charlie smiled, “You’re not supposed to see Santa, that’s the point daddy,”

Roger leaned over, draping himself across your waist, “Well obviously, any old fool knows that. But sometimes, if you’re sneaky enough you can just catch a glimpse.” Charlie’s eyes lit up, “Why don’t you pop downstairs, mummy and I will be right behind. Go peak if Santa got stuck up the chimney?” The boy nodded and set off downstairs filled with determination.

Roger looked up at you, “Didn’t mean to give you a fright, sorry about that dear,”

“Its alright,” You ran your fingers through his messy hair, “Just with all this talk of Father Christmas and I thought he’d crawled into bed with me,”

Roger snorted, “Father Christmas, he talks like a property adult. Did you teach him that?”

“No, but if we’re narrowing down culprits I’d put Brian under heavy suspension.”

“Who else to call Santa by the scientific name?”

The lights on the tree hadn’t been turned off last night and it cast a warm glow against everything. Charlie had already picked up his stocking and settled at the table with his trusty stuffed cow. It was only as old as its owner but, because of Charlie’s insistence to take it everywhere, it was already becoming dingy. At this point, no one could truly recall just how it had come into his possession, although it was agreed upon that Veronica was most likely the one who’d originally bought it. It had also never been determined why Charlie had latched onto that cow in particular because he had several stuffed cows. It had truly been glorious watching your son grow into his tastes, and he was always fond of animals, but from the age of three on he had wanted to be a cowboy. He was obsessed with the idea, painting his room barn red and collecting little animal toys.

Charlie fiddled with the edge of his stocking as you set a glass of juice in front of him, “Can I open it?”

“Of course, go on love.” You kissed his forehead and made your way back to the kitchen. It was still so early, just shy of seven o’clock. A red kettled boiled on the back burner as Roger scrambled eggs. You slipped your arms around his waist, leaning into the crook of his neck.

“Your hands are cold,” Roger murmured, taking one of your hands into his unoccupied one.

You hummed, “You’re warm,”

The gentle silence was broken by Charlie, presenting a clear plastic tube filled with little farm animals, “Horses!” He waved it above his head, “I got horses!”

“Did you?!” Roger called over his shoulder, “That’s wonderful! Anything else in there?”

He fiddled for a moment, reaching around, “I think… socks?” He stared at the fabric in his hands before he realized just what they were, “Cows! They look like cows!” His attention quickly deferred to something else, “I don’t know what this is, what is this mummy?” He held the thin object up.

“A candy cane,” You patted Roger’s back, pulling away, “It’s to eat, but not right now.” Charlie nodded, inspecting it. The kettle on the stove screeched, calling you to the two teacups set on the counter.

As plates and mugs were set on the table Charlie set down the final item in his stocking, “An orange?”

You nodded, starting at your eggs, “For good luck,”

“Why good luck?” Your son looked at you, seriously inquisitive.

“Once, a long time ago, oranges were special. They were hard to find so when you’d get one in your stocking it was like a treat.”

Charlie nodded, “I like oranges,”

You looked over, towards the seat that housed Roger’s plate, but coincidentally Roger wasn’t there. You could see the top of his head just above the sofa as he looked for something by the tree. He stood abruptly, brandishing a round box wrapped in shiny gold Santa paper. He shook it gently in your direction, obscured from Charlie, and you knew what it was.

Roger set the package by Charlie’s stuffed cow and settled back into his own seat. Confusion twitched the boy’s brow as he glanced between his father and the box, Roger knew what he was silently asking and nodded, “You can open it,”

Charlie was still apprehensive as he carefully picked at the tape, trying not to rip the paper. When the outer layer was shed and looked at the cardboard hatbox on the table, “What is it?”

“You’ve got to take the lid off Chaz,” Roger chuckled, tapping the top.

“Oh,” Charlie mumbled, pulling up and lifting out the small cowboy hat inside. He gasped softly, admiring the black material before setting it atop his blond mop, “Thank you!” He cried, elated with the hat.

Charlie’s ‘real cowboy hat’ was the highlight of his night. He wore it through the opening of all the other gifts, he wore it with his overalls to Freddie’s for dinner, he played as a cowboy with the other children all night, and he fell asleep wearing it in the car ride home.

Roger parked the car and turned the ignition off, “He’s completely asleep, isn’t he?”

You nodded, “He was nodding off before we left so I’m not surprised.”

“Poor chap-” Roger grinned at you, “Being a cowboy is tough work I’d reckon.” He unbuckled his seatbelt, “I’ll get him,”

After your boy had been put down and water made for tea, both you and Roger settled into the couch.

“Reckon he had a good day?” Roger asked quietly, wrapping an arm around you.

“I’d imagine. He got to be a cowboy and see everyone, quite possibly his two favourite things,”

“Good,” The pair of you were content, basking in each other warm presence.

You snuggled closer to your husband, “You know Rog, at dinner, I think Deaks may have referred to Santa as ‘Father Christmas’.”

Roger rolled his eyes and sighed, “Why of course, he’s the one teaching our child eloquent words,”

You leaned up to press a kiss to Roger’s cheek, “Merry Christmas my love,”

“Merry Christmas to you as well,”


End file.
